


Neither Starved Nor Cold

by dazzler



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Pining, Slow Burn, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6301954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazzler/pseuds/dazzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Halonic counsel of obedience, undertaken in a spirit of faith and love in the following of the Fury, requires a submission of the will to legitimate superiors, who stand in the place of the Goddess Halone when they command according to the proper constitutions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm kinda nervous to start this because i wanted to wait until it was done, but that might take a while anyway so i figure i'll start slowly posting what i have. 
> 
> covers from the end of tales from dragonsong war and up to some msq stuff.

 The rain hadn’t let up for several days, turning the training ground into a slurry of mud that reached ankle-high. Aymeric watched the new recruits slog through it with his arms folded across his chest and a decidedly grim expression. Beside him, Commander Faucheux seemed to be in no higher spirits, the lines in his brow and the hollows beneath his eyes even more pronounced than usual. 

“Lord Commander?”

“What is it, captain?” Faucheux didn’t even glance at him but continued to scan the field, squinting through the torrent of rain.

“I wondered if you received my proposal concerning mounted cannons on the Steps of Faith?”

“Daniffen's Collar precludes a direct assault,” Faucheux said.

“I understand that, yet without an Azure Dragoon, we are open to Nidhogg’s--”

“We don’t have the resources,” Faucheux said curtly. “Unless you know someone who can get them for us, then I suggest you keep such ideas to yourself.”

“Yes, ser.”  

“We’re done for today,” he said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Send them to dinner.”

His temper now matching the miserable weather, Aymeric called out to the soldiers to stop and trudged back toward his quarters, feeling cold and in dire need of a drink.

He made it halfway there before spotting a familiar face training on one of the striking dummies.

When they first met on that burnt-out battlefield, Estinien did not know him, but he certainly knew of Estinien. He had a reputation for his skill with a lance, but also as an unruly creature that remained in the order only by virtue of his talent and connection to Ser Alberic. Well, there at least he could empathize.

They hadn’t seen each other since the day they arrived back at camp, parting ways at the infirmary where Aymeric left him in the care of the nurse. He’d intended to visit during Estinien’s recovery from the ordeal, yet somehow it’d gotten away from him. He felt a twinge of guilt over it as he approached.

Sensing his presence, Estinien turned. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, almost but not quite covering the shiny pink burn over his right eye.

“Aymeric,” he said. “What do you want?”

 _So he did remember my name._ “You promised to buy me a drink, didn’t you?”

“Thought you’d forgotten,” said Estinien, avoiding his eyes.

“Of course not,” Aymeric said. “I apologize for not saying anything earlier. You are under no obligation to join me, as I have no wish to be overbearing.”

An amused smile pulled at the corners of Estinien’s mouth.“You mean like the time you followed me to the middle of nowhere so we could walk home together?”

“Touché.” Aymeric laughed.

“Tomorrow night,” said Estinien, turning back to the dummies. Aymeric took a moment to register what just happened. “The first round is on me.”  

* * *

 Estinien tugged his ponytail tighter and faced himself in the mirror with a sigh. Here he was, acting like some kind of blushing maid at her sixteenth nameday because he hadn’t been out in a while.

Carousing at the Forgotten Knight was a beloved pastime of the Temple Knights, and one Estinien avoided upon pain of death. His training regime didn’t account for the sort of hangovers their ale was wont to cause. He owed Aymeric, however, and truthfully he had enjoyed the man’s company on their journey back to Ishgard. For that, he figured he could stomach the noise and the crowd for one night.

They met by the hunting board outside, Aymeric looking as elegant as ever even in civilian clothing. He grinned when he saw Estinien.

“Good to have you, friend,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Estinien followed him inside. The dim lighting served to obscure the curious mixture of high and low society within the Forgotten Knight; soldiers, knaves, and nobles alike mingling over tankards. Funny that it was right across the street from the Congregation and the seat of the Lord Commander. Estinien had a feeling Fauxcheux wouldn’t be caught dead here, on either floor.

“Gibrillont!” Aymeric signaled to the bartender. “Two pints, if you would be so kind.”

Gibrillont poured the drinks and slid them across the counter with a friendly smile. “Who’s that with you, Aymeric? Haven’t seem him before.”

“This is Estinien, a friend of mine from the Knights.”

Estinien raised a hand in greeting, taking a long drought of ale.

“Aymeric?” came an unfamiliar voice from behind them. They both turned. It belonged to a heavily muscled Elezen woman with close-cropped hair and a sharp grin.

“Albertine,” Aymeric greeted her warmly. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the din. “Are the others here as well?”

Albertine turned and bellowed into the crowd, “Fiacre, Rosemonde, get over here!”  

They were soon joined by another pair of Elezen, one a slender and beautiful man and the other a woman with a stare like a hawk.

The man called Fiacre wasted no time in draping himself all over Aymeric.

“We never see you around anymore,” he said, nuzzling the front of Aymeric’s tunic. Aymeric rested a hand in his hair, giving Estinien an almost apologetic look.

Estinien, who had been hovering awkwardly by the bar for much of this exchange, was taken by a sudden urge to flee.

“I have been quite busy since being promoted,” Aymeric said.

“Don’t have time for us anymore since you got yourself a fancy new title?” the woman called Rosemonde said. Albertine draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Now, Rosy, don’t be mean,” she said. Estinien was surprised to see Rosemonde blush.

 

“This is Estinien, everyone.” Aymeric put a hand on his shoulder. “The story of how we met is rather interesting, should you care to hear it.”

They all gathered around a table, where Aymeric became animated in the telling. Estinien sat back and watched him, his tankard sitting to the side, forgotten

“So this madman went after the wyrm by himself,” Aymeric said.  

Fiacre gasped. “Is that true?” he asked, leaning so far over that he was practically in Aymeric’s lap.

“Aymeric helped me, though,” Estinien said. “I would have been the beast’s dinner had he not swept in to save the day.”

“I only distracted it long enough for you to do the most incredible dive I have ever seen,” said Aymeric, blue eyes sparkling. Estinien flushed a little, looking quickly away. 

“Fury, get a room.” Rosemonde rolled her eyes.

“What a tale,” Albertine said. She laughed and clapped him on the back so forcefully he nearly hit his head on the table. “And to think, we took you for a curmudgeon all this time!”

The group fell into an awkward silence.

Fiacre coughed. “To be honest, we’ve admired your lancework for a while. But you always seemed...”

“Unapproachable,” Rosemonde finished for him.

“I was going to say ‘busy,’” Fiacre said.

“You should spar with us some time!” Albertine’s tankard sloshed over a little with the enthusiasm of her gesturing.

“I don’t--” _need to train with other people as my opponents_ , he was about to say, until he caught Aymeric looking at him hopefully. “...Alright,” he muttered.

They continued to drink and talk until late, Fiacre doing humorous impressions of Commander Fauxcheux, Rosemonde explaining the best ways to kill a drake. Estinien spoke little but began to feel more at ease in their presence.

When they finally bid one another goodnight, Aymeric lingered by him.

“You are headed to the barracks, right? Let me come with you,” he said, taking Estinien by the hand.

Savior or not, he was beginning to find Aymeric’s lack of personal space unnerving. Estinien wasn’t used to the sort of familiar touches Aymeric seemed totally at ease with: an arm slung around his shoulder, the friendly brush of a hand, fingers circling his wrist to pull him through the crowded bar. Each one sent warmth flooding through him at the point of contact (a curious sensation which he attributed to several tankards of ale).

“I apologize,” Aymeric said as soon as they were out of the Forgotten Knight. “I did not intend for us to spend the whole night with them.”

“‘Twas no great hardship,” said Estinien. _For the most part_ , he added silently. “They’re an interesting crowd.”

Aymeric looked at least somewhat cheered by that.

The streets of the Pillars at night were beautiful, fragrant moonlight-blooming flowers lining the walks, trees whose leaves rustled and flashed silver in the wind, the soft yellow of the street lamps. They walked side by side, their shoulders occasionally knocking against one another.

“You know, it was my first dragon.” Estinien’s gaze slid to the path in front of them. It felt safer than looking at Aymeric. “The one we killed together.”

“The first of many, I am certain.”

“I train to become an Azure Dragoon, as my father used to be.”

“Ser Alberic, right?”

“Aye,” Estinien said. "So you knew?"

At that, Aymeric looked rather guilty. “I must have heard someone mention it.”

 _So even the great Captain Aymeric is not above gossip_. “I see.”

When they reached the barracks, Estinien wavered by the entrance, unsure of what to expect.

“I should go,” he said. “Have to be up early for hunting.”

If Aymeric was disappointed, his expression didn’t show it. He reached out to clasp Estinien by the arm. “Thank you for accompanying me,” he said with a smile. Estinien nodded. “Goodnight, my friend."

Estinien stood in the dark and watched him leave, feeling an unfamiliar tightening in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doing the quests around ishgard is like... wow a lot of the temple knights are actually awful

“Astrologians have recorded Horde activity here, here, and here.” Aymeric indicated the points Jannequinard had drawn for him on the map. “I have taken the liberty of grounding the airships for the next several days. Hopefully this will come to nothing.”

“Good work.” Fauxcheux’s skeletal hands folded on his desk. “Anything else?”

Aymeric hesitated. “There was an incident with one of our own.”

“Oh?”

“A trainee, it seems, was meeting with a friend of his and some of the older knights took it to be romantic. They decided to punish him themselves rather than report to me.”

“And what did they do?”

“They beat him, Ser.” Aymeric couldn’t help the disdain that crept into his voice. Such occurrences were not uncommon within the ranks of the Temple Knights, but he had no power as a captain to stop them from happening altogether.

“If they cannot handle a little roughing up, they have no place here,” Fauxcheux said. “You’re too soft on them, Aymeric. This is not a charity.”

Aymeric bit the inside of his cheek to keep the retorts from spilling out. About how the recruits from Foundation kept their families fed. How those who joined the army for money wouldn’t remain loyal if they were mistreated.

Instead, he excused himself, making for the training grounds where he knew Estinien would be practicing. Over the past few days, they’d had several sessions together, and despite his somewhat blunt nature, Aymeric had found him to be quite an enjoyable companion.

As he approached, Estinien was practicing on a training dummy.

“How would you like to try your hand against an opponent who will fight back?” Aymeric asked.

Estinien flashed him a dangerous grin. “I warn you, I will not go easy on you.”

“I would be insulted if you did,” Aymeric said.

They took positions across from one another on the floor. “Ready?” he called.

Estinien struck first, bringing his lance down in a wide arc. Aymeric threw up his sword to block it just in time, arms shaking with the effort of holding Estinien back.  

Although he often appeared ill at ease in the company of others, he never looked more graceful and natural than when he wielded a lance. Aymeric remembered being in awe watching him fight the wyrm.

Aymeric did not have that luxury now, having to concentrate hard just to stand his ground. Estinien was a relentless opponent, coming at him again and again with brutal force.

Aymeric feinted, throwing Estinien off balance enough for him to get under his guard. Estinien recovered quickly though, regaining his stance to parry Aymeric’s thrust.

“You’ll have to do better than--ow!” Estinien staggered as Aymeric used the butt of his sword to slam into Estinien’s chest plate.

“What was that?” Aymeric asked. Estinien growled and lunged forward, twirling his lance so it slammed Aymeric in his sword arm. He dropped it with a curse.

“Do you give?” Estinien asked, leveling the point at Aymeric’s neck.

“You are far too eager to declare yourself the victor,” Aymeric said. He grabbed the side of the lance and tugged Estinien forward.  

The weapon spun out of his hands, clattering just out of his reach. He lunged for it. Aymeric intercepted him, tackling him to the ground. He had more body mass than Estinien, but Estinien was stronger and faster, slipping out of his grip to mount Aymeric and dig a knee into the small of his back.

“How about now?” he asked, panting hard. In response, Aymeric rolled over, and Estinien toppled sideways. Aymeric leapt up, but Estinien caught him in the shins with a leg and swept his feet out from under him.

They were both sprawled on the ground and out of breath. Aymeric began to laugh, feeling a pleasant ache in his ribs.

“Were I Nidhogg’s eye, I should not hesitate to choose you,” he said, struggling to catch his breath.

Estinien seemed to tense at the mention of the Great Wyrm’s name, but he offered a hand to help Aymeric up nonetheless.

“And I would be confident with you at my side in any battle,” he said. Aymeric stared at him, taken aback, and Estinien cleared his throat rather loudly. “That is, you are skilled.”

They both turned at the sound of clapping. During their fight, it seemed Zephirin had joined them on the sidelines of the practice field.

“Good match,” he said.  

“Ser Zephirin,” said Aymeric, nodding. Beside him, Estinien tensed. "How went your expedition?”  
  
"Smoothly enough," said Zephirin. "I was just on my way to report to the Lord Commander."   
  
"We won’t keep you, then," said Aymeric, wary of the way Estinien had gone quiet and still beside him.   
  
"Are you training him?" Zephirin asked, glancing at Estinien. "He could use it. Mad as a dog, that one. Take care he doesn't bite you."   
  
"You know each other?"   
  
"I oversaw a mission to the Western Highlands and he was under my command. He got in a fight with another knight over some triviality, damn near put his eye out."   
  
"Chocobo shit," Estinien said, teeth bared. "The cur insulted Ser Alberic, said he was a coward who ran away from Nidhogg."   
  
"Aye..." Zephirin said, his tone of distaste indicating that he had not changed his mind about it being trivial. "That was it."   
  
Estinien took a menacing step forward but Aymeric held out an arm to stop him.   
  
"You had best hurry to Commander Fauxcheux, Ser Zephirin. He has been waiting for news from the border," he said.   
  
Zephirin nodded to him. "Good day, Aymeric. See that you cannot try to tame that wolf of yours."   
  
"If it is any consolation, he isn’t very fond of me either," said Aymeric as soon as he was out of earshot. "Zephirin has few sympathies and even less regard for his fellow man. Pay him no mind."

The walls behind Estinien’s eyes had gone up, however, and if his guarded expression was anything to go by, then Aymeric would not be hearing any more about his relationship to Zephirin. 

* * *

They continued to train together once or twice a week, whenever Aymeric had time away from his duties as captain. They were occasionally joined by Fiacre or Rosemonde and Albertine. Estinien came to look forward to their sessions together, though it was against his better judgement.

Why a promising future leader of the Temple Knights chose to take an interest in Estinien was beyond him. Especially one who seemed well acquainted with nearly half the denizens of the Holy See. They were always showing up to talk with him about something or other, asking advice or telling him about their lives, and Estinien felt exhausted merely listening to them. Aymeric, on the other hand, acted in perfect grace and listened with rapt attention to all of their prattle.

Despite their differences, Estinien did not find his company to be grating whatsoever. That week, Aymeric was practicing archery during their session, and Estinien surprised even himself by asking if Aymeric would teach him.

Aymeric’s eyes widened at Estinien’s request. “Of course, I would be happy to,” he said. “I will make this next shot slower so that you can follow the stance.”

Estinien watched him draw the bow with rapt attention. Aymeric’s eyes narrowed to blue slits as he aimed, and the arrow struck true, hitting the center of the target and vibrating with the force of the shot. Estinien silently thanked the Fury that he and Aymeric fought on the same side.

“Now you try,” he said, passing the bow to Estinien. Estinien raised it and nocked an arrow.

“Here, allow me to help you.” Aymeric moved behind him and laid his hands over Estinien’s, adjusting the positioning of his arms.

“Aymeric--” He could hardly think, let alone aim with Aymeric this close to him, chest nearly pressing to Estinien’s back.

"Straighten your arm," said Aymeric. "There. Now pull. A little more."  
  
Aymeric’s velvet voice in his ear telling him what to do sent a shiver through him and he let go, the arrow flying past the target and thudding into the ground.   
  
"I think myself more suited to the lance after all," Estinien said, stepping away to put some space between him and Aymeric.   
  
"It never hurts to learn a new weapon, should you find yourself lacking a more familiar one," said Aymeric. "The sun is starting to set, though. Shall we head to the Forgotten Knight?"

Estinien nodded and followed after him.

That night, the mood in the tavern seemed more somber than usual. Word of devastating Horde attacks on Falcon’s Nest had reached the city just that morning. Estinien couldn’t help but feel impatient. The longer their army spent without an Azure Dragoon, the more casualties they would have.  

Fiacre was seated at the bar and motioned the two men over when he caught sight of them.

“Aymeric, Estinien. Good to see you,” he said.

“I have just been teaching Estinien the bow,” said Aymeric.

“Really? Here’s to joining our ranks, then,” he said, lifting his drink. “Aymeric and I have long been practice partners at the archery range.”

“Have you,” said Estinien.

“Suck his cock if you’d like, but it’s not going to get you a promotion,” a voice drawled from behind them.

Estinien spun around. An Elezen man stood behind them, flanked by two broad Hyurans. “He’s a real selfish _bastard_ , you know?”

“Vespasien,” Fiacre said pleasantly. “Creative as ever with your insults, I see.”

“Watch your tongue, bard,” Vespasien snarled.

Fiacre responded by waggling his tongue at him in a rather lewd manner.

“I have no quarrel with you,” said Aymeric. “Please leave us.”

“Your appointment is a farce. Everyone knows I was to be promoted to captain.”

Estinien only realized he’d curled his hands into fists when Aymeric’s hand alighted on his shoulder.

“Be that as it may, I still currently outrank you. Come, Estinien, Fiacre,” he said. “I feel some fresh air would do us good.”

Vespasien sneered at them as they passed.

They emerged from the Forgotten Knight into St. Valeroyant Forum. Despite the chill in the air, Estinien found himself growing hot with anger.

“What in the seven hells is wrong with him?” he burst out.

“He thinks I do not deserve my captaincy,” Aymeric said.

“Damn him, then,” said Estinien in a hiss. “A man of your integrity-- It should not matter whether you are trueborn or not.”

“You flatter me, my friend,” Aymeric said. He looked weary. “But when the accusation is that you are the bastard of His Eminence, it rather does.”

Estinien stilled. Surely he didn’t mean…

“Well,” said Fiacre. He stretched. “I’ve had quite enough excitement for one night.”

“Take care, Fiacre.”

He departed, and they were alone.

“Not to me,” Estinien said after a long moment. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You are a good man, Estinien,” said Aymeric with a smile, laying a hand on Estinien’s arm.

 _No, I’m not,_ Estinien thought, but heat crept into his cheeks at the praise.

“Thank you,” Aymeric added, “for not asking whether it is true.”

* * *

“You may enter.”

The Temple Knight guard led Aymeric into the Seat of the Lord Commander. Fauxcheux was seated at his desk while Zephirin stood beside him.

“Captain,” said Fauxcheux. “Pleased you could make it.”

Aymeric bent at the waist in a bow. “I heard you had urgent business to discuss.”

“We do,” said Fauxcheux. “The western highlands has seen an unusual amount of Horde activity lately. Ser Zephirin believes that they may be trying to establish a nest. Should such a nest exist, it would be perilously close to Ishgard and must needs be eliminated.”

“Of course, Lord Commander.”

“Falcon’s Nest requested our assistance in the endeavor.”

“I am allowing you to choose the members of your squad, but I request you bring Estinien with you as well.”

“Estinien?” Aymeric asked, taken aback. “Why?”

“Your relationship with the boy has been rather close as of late, has it not?”

Without thinking, Aymeric looked straight at Zephirin, who stood by Fauxcheux’s side in silence. Zephirin met his gaze with a cold expression.

“Yes, Lord Commander,” Aymeric said.  

Fauxcheux scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If it weren’t for Ser Alberic I would have probably gotten rid of him already.”

“I have found him to be a capable and loyal knight,” said Aymeric.

Fauxcheux looked thoughtful. “He is undoubtedly skilled. That is why we are giving him another chance. If he does not begin to behave himself, however, we shall have no choice but to discharge him.” Aymeric bit back a retort, bowing his head to focus on the floor. “And Aymeric?”

“Ser?”

“You’re a sharp lad. Take better care who you choose to keep company with in the future. ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of this stuff i took from 1.0!! also i’m a bard so im allowed to meme on them
> 
> *added the slow burn tag heheh

Aymeric gazed up at the statue of Halone, encircled by stained glass that cast a blue glow over the inside of the cathedral. The clergy in red and white robes milled about as they prepared for Mass.

Estinien sat at his side with an odd tenseness about him. For all his unmannerly ways, Estinien kept a tight sense of control over himself. It was the kind of discipline that allowed him to remain in the Temple Knights for half a year without learning anyone’s name, doing nothing but training.

Considering the control he would have to exercise as Azure Dragoon, Aymeric supposed it made sense.

“You go to church every week?” Estinien asked.

“I’ve not missed a day,” said Aymeric. “When I was younger, I would come more than once a week.”

“I haven’t been since I lost my family.” Estinien looked up at the arched ceilings thoughtfully. “I never liked it as a child.”

During the service, the priest spoke of the virtues of Saint Reinette laying down her arms after she had slain the dragon that killed her beloved. It was a story Aymeric was told many times as a child.

“I urge you,” he said, “not to lay down your arms until our duty is complete, and the war is won.”

Hardly a correct interpretation of the tale, Aymeric thought with distaste. Reinette’s story was about balance: love and hate, destruction and rebirth. The war was not yet over when she abandoned the soldier’s life, but she played her part and then set out to do good amongst the people. _By the balance of Her spear all will be set free._

Afterwards, the two of them lingered in their seats.

“I found it dull,” said Estinien, “but I can see why you like it.”

“You should come with me more often, when we return.” Aymeric reached out, and his fingers brushed the back of Estinien’s neck. Estinien stiffened slightly.  

 _Curious_ , Aymeric thought. He did it again. This time, Estinien grabbed his hand, whirling around to face him.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“Fixing your hair,” Aymeric said. “If you are to come back with me, we may need to take a comb to it.”

Estinien scoffed. “In that case, I shall have to pass.”

* * *

 As was customary before such ventures into Dravanian territory, the families of the knights came to see them off. Ser Alberic had arrived at the entrance to Gargoyle Bridge to see Estinien. Albertine’s parents were there for both her and Rosemonde, as Rosemonde had been estranged from her own family for some time. Fiacre was accompanied by his elder sister. As usual, there was no one there for Aymeric, so he joined with Estinien and Alberic.

“Ser Alberic.” Aymeric took his hand. “I believe we met at a banquet once.”

“Captain. Estinien tells me you have been a good friend to him these past few weeks.”

“Alberic, please,” Estinien said, his expression approaching mortification.

“I am honored,” said Aymeric, smiling. “Estinien has been a fine companion to me as well.”

Estinien cleared his throat. “The others should be informed that the company is preparing to leave,” he said. ”Immediately.”

Alberic chuckled as Estinien stalked off. “Shy as ever.”

“I fear he has difficulty being praised.”

“Perhaps that is true.” Alberic looked over at Estinien with a fond expression. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

A strange irritation rose in Aymeric. Certainly his nature was sometimes difficult, but Estinien was no child. “We take care of each other, I think.”

“Captainship at twenty three is impressive.”   

“Thank you, Ser. That means a lot to me coming from you.”

“I hope you will keep being a good influence on him,” said Alberic, clapping him on the shoulder.

Aymeric could not help but feel he was being measured up by the man. He wondered how much Alberic knew of Estinien’s precarious situation with the Knights.

“Talking about me, are you?” Estinien asked as he approached with Fiacre, Albertine and Rosemonde.

“Of course. What else would be be doing?” Alberic said, raising an eyebrow.

Estinien huffed and shouldered his pack. “Come, Aymeric, we must away before this old man fills your head with nonsense.”

* * *

 Eventually, Fiacre stopped singing long enough for Aymeric suggest they find somewhere to take a rest. 

“Fury take the bards,” Estinien heard Rosemonde mutter.

They made the trip across the bridge on chocobo. “We’ll leave the birds behind in Falcon’s Nest,” Aymeric had explained. “The scent might alert dragons to our presence.”

Estinien himself had never cared for the birds. They were loud, smelled bad, and worst of all, they had an uncanny way of knowing when someone disliked them. He was glad they would only be travelling a day with them.

Aymeric, of course, had stroked the beast’s beak and spoken softly to it, and in no time at all it was eating out of his hand. _He must be beloved by all of Halone’s creatures_ , Estinien thought.

When they came to a clear stream that ran alongside the road for about half a malm, Albertine passed around the food prepared for the day, and the small troupe scattered over the hillside.

As Aymeric and Estinien kept watch, a chocobo-drawn cart approached from the direction of the Nest and rolled to a stop nearby. A couple jumped down to gather water while their two children waited in the back.

Aymeric rose from where he was seated and approached, raising a hand in greeting.

“Hail, my friends. What brings you eastward?”

“Ser Knight,” said the man, “we go to stay with my aunt in the city. Our home was lost to us in the Dravanian attack." 

“You have my sympathies,” said Aymeric. “Our company travels now to drive them from the highlands.”

“A little late, aren’t you?” the woman said. “There was no one there to defend us when it happened.” Aymeric’s eyes widened as she continued. “Every year more of our young people leave the shire to serve the archbishop, and every year more do not return. You care naught but for your own in the See.”

Estinien’s stomach twisted, and for a moment he had to turn away from her familiar expression of hurt and anger. The woman’s husband put a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off.

“I hope you burn,” she said, spitting on the front of Aymeric’s haubergeon. Estinien immediately stood, but Aymeric held out an arm to keep him back.

“There is truth in what you say, and I am ashamed for it. I am deeply sorry about your village.” He bowed his head. “Rest assured we will make the Dravanians pay for what they’ve done.”

Swearing under her breath, the woman returned to the cart. The man, however, continued to hover by Aymeric and Estinien.

“I apologize for her harsh words, Ser Knight.” He looked anxious, no doubt fearing reprisal from the two of them. “She is hungry and tired. We all are. Please, allow us to be on our way.”

“I understand.” Aymeric handed him the knapsack containing his rations for the day. “Here, take this and travel well.”

The man, moved beyond words, accepted it.   

Estinien turned to Aymeric in wonderment as the cart pulled out of sight. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

“The teachings of Saint Daniffen call us to give freely to others.”

Estinien shook his head. “You are unlike any Temple Knight I’ve ever met.”

“I hope you have not met too many, then,” Aymeric said, a teasing gleam in his eye.  

“I am one, remember? Here, have some of mine,” said Estinien, breaking his ration of bread and passing over half.

“Thank you.” Aymeric smiled at him. “Come, we should rejoin the others and keep moving.”

* * *

 Falcon’s Nest was a tiny hamlet at the border of the Western Highlands. At that time of year it was verdant and beautiful, the fields surrounding it covered in flowers and the sky above a cloudless blue. Estinien did not trust it, even with the mountains rising on either side like two massive guardians.  

They were met by a knight named Armantel just outside the gates. “The locals are not too enthusiastic about outsiders,” he warned them as he escorted them into the village. “But Camp Riversmeet is not far. Your company might stay the night there before crossing Black Iron Bridge.”

“I appreciate the information,” said Aymeric. “We won’t be long here, then.”

“The firedrakes have returned to the mountains for the mating season, so they shouldn’t give you trouble, but watch out for gall gnats.” Armantel mopped his forehead with a kerchief. “I swear the creatures have been getting bigger as of late.”

An associate at the Shepherd's Guild had agreed to take their chocobos, and with the guard’s warnings fresh in their minds, the party made for Riversmeet.

Upon arrival they were all quite hungry again, but unfortunately the tiny outpost did not have any supplies to spare.

“Rosey and I are good at fishing,” Albertine volunteered. “We can bring something back for dinner.”

“You two go on ahead, then.” Aymeric set his belongings down. “Estinien and I will set up camp. Fiacre, you can get started on the fire.”

They were three tents in total. Rosemonde and Albertine were sharing one, and Aymeric had insisted Fiacre have one to himself, as Fiacre was a terrible bed partner and kicked in his sleep. The thought that the knowledge had been acquired through experience left Estinien feeling vaguely irritable.

When the two of them returned with several trout, Fiacre took care of the preparation work of gutting them and roasting them over the fire.

“Enjoy it,” Aymeric told them as they ate. “This might be our last cooked meal for a while.”

Estinien sat down heavily and propped his leg up on a log. “I tire of this. We’ve seen neither hide nor tail of a dragon since we set out.”

“Patience, Estinien, it’s not been a day yet,” said Aymeric.

“We should get some rest,” Fiacre said, yawning and stretching.

“What, no campfire songs?”

“Don’t give him any ideas, Albertine,” Rosemonde muttered.

In the darkness just outside the glow of the fire, Rosemonde was leaning up against Albertine while Albertine played with her hair. Estinien suddenly felt awkward, like he was witnessing a private moment.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, rising. He returned to the tent, and the low murmur of voices continued for a while as he lay down on the bedroll. He wondered if they were talking about him. Eventually, he heard the telltale scuffle of boots kicking dirt over the fire.

Aymeric pulled aside the tent flap and entered quietly. Estinien cleared his throat, causing Aymeric to start a little.

“It’s alright, I’m still awake.”

“Oh, I see.”

The encounter by the stream had stuck in Estinien’s mind. He rolled over and propped himself up on his side.

“That woman earlier… you said she spoke the truth.”

“Aye,” said Aymeric. He sat down on the bedroll next to Estinien. “The See can’t continue on the way it has been.”

“What do you mean?”

Aymeric’s expression darkened. “I mean that without reform, it will perish.”

“What you speak of could be considered heresy,” said Estinien, keeping his tone neutral, although he registered the words with a small amount of panic. He did not fear the Inquisition himself, but for Aymeric--

“You’ve seen it, Estinien, I know you have. The Temple Knights and their like run rampant. The people of Ishgard do not trust them, and I can hardly blame them. The Four are no better, always squabbling amongst themselves and competing for power.” He closed his eyes. Estinien searched for words and found none. “My aim is nothing less than the rank of Lord Commander,” Aymeric said. “If I want to change anything, I will have to begin there.”

“Zephirin will not be pleased to hear that,” Estinien managed once he’d found his voice again.

Aymeric favored him with a wry smile. “No, I imagine not.”

Exhausted from travel, they bade one another goodnight soon after, but Estinien lay awake mulling over their conversation as Aymeric slept beside him.

Despite his illegitimate status and age, his chances were not terrible. People gravitated toward Aymeric in the same way that Estinien repelled them. It was something in his mannerisms, a quiet strength and grace that commanded attention from those around him.  

He would make a fine leader, Estinien thought, but a terrible politician. He was far too honest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long… i ended up breaking it up a bit so hopefully the next one will be here sooner and will also include some #sexy parts. god im so worried about 3.3. see you on the other side, folks. ;-;

“Estinien!”

He awoke with a jolt, his heart thundering in his ears.

“You were thrashing and groaning in your sleep.” Aymeric was looking at him with a concerned expression and Estinien felt shame burn his cheeks. This was the second time Aymeric had seen him like this. This time, however, he didn’t have the scorched battlefield to blame it on.

“Had a nightmare,” said Estinien. Though he could not remember what he had dreamt of, he could still taste ash on his tongue. He hastily wiped away the dampness at his eyes with his hands.

“Do you need anything?” Aymeric asked, reaching out to touch Estinien’s arm.

“I am fine,” Estinien said, jerking away. “Twas but a dream.”

Aymeric withdrew his hand. “I apologize,” he  said. “I’ll let you rest. Pray do not hesitate to wake me if you need to.”

 _What for_ , Estinien thought, _so I can embarrass myself again?_

He lay there for a long while, trying to clear his head, until Aymeric’s even breathing beside him lulled him back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Aymeric awoke face-to-face with Estinien. They had moved closer in the night, and now they were barely a fulm apart.

Estinien slept with his brow knitted, full lips curved into an uneasy frown. The shadows cast beneath his eyes appeared darker in the cold blue light of morning.

What had frightened him so the night before? Did it happen often?  

Estinien breathed out a sigh and shifted in his sleep, and Aymeric quickly rolled over, not wanting to be caught staring.

He dozed for a while before the sounds of Estinien stirring woke him.

“Good morning,” said Aymeric. Estinien grunted by way of answer and staggered out of the tent.

 _Not much of an early chocobo, is he._ Aymeric followed him out to find Fiacre and Albertine already seated around the fire. One of the soldiers stationed at the outpost, a Midlander woman, was speaking with them.

“The airship landing between Swiftrun and Coerthas is a favorite target of dragons. The archbishop sends men to defend it but few pilots are willing to risk the trip anymore.”

“Aymeric, Estinien.” Albertine motioned them over when she noticed them. “Come join us. Rosemonde has gone out scouting.”

“We’ve just had breakfast,” said Fiacre. “It’s very… Coerthan.” Aymeric accepted a bowl of food from the soldier with a gracious smile, the contents consisting of a bland, unidentifiable mush. Estinien wolfed his down in three bites and then stared at the bottom of the bowl as though wondering where it went.

“Emilia was explaining to us the major sites of dragon activity in the area,” said Albertine.

Emilia nodded. “Aye, and they’re moving closer as of late. The creatures have been swiping our livestock from the fields.”

“I would be obliged if you could show me where the disappearances have taken place.”

“Certainly,” said Emilia. “Oh, and there’s plenty left from breakfast if you would like some more.”

“Estinien might. I am not sure he even tasted it the first time around,” Aymeric said, throwing him a teasing look.

Estinien crossed his arms in a huff, and Aymeric shouldn’t have found it endearing _,_ but he did.

* * *

Rosemonde returned from her patrol a few bells later, out of breath and covered in dust.

“I’ve located the nest,” she told them once they had gathered in the center of camp. “A malm north of the bridge, in a canyon among the rocks.

“Fury’s teats, that’s closer than we thought,” said Albertine. “I expected we’d be heading out to Dragonspit.”

“Saves us the trip,” Fiacre said.

“What are we waiting for?” Estinien asked. “Let us rout the beasts ere they sink their claws in any further.”

“Settle down, you’re liable to get us all killed if you go rushing in.”

Estinien bristled. “What, are you afraid?”

Aymeric laid a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right, Estinien, we should scout the area further and devise a plan.”

“So?” Estinien asked, beginning to grow impatient. “What is the plan?”

“Our orders are to report to Dusk Vigil for aid,” said Rosemonde. “Not to charge the damn thing ourselves. We should be ready in a few days to make our report.”

Estinien frowned. “That is enough time for the beasts to journey to Ishgard and back. We must strike sooner,”

“I should like to wait for a better knowledge of the nest’s construction,” said Aymeric. "Two days should give us ample time to prepare."

Afterward, Rosemonde stayed with Aymeric to mark out the location of the nest on his map. He did not see Estinien slip from the camp, and only when he went to summon him for dinner did he notice Estinien was missing.

As he approached the rest of the group, Fiacre and Albertine were sitting by the fire, putting their weapons in order. “Has anyone seen Estinien?” Aymeric asked.

“Probably went out to take on the dragons by himself. Blasted fool,” Rosemonde muttered.

Aymeric blanched. “Surely not.”

Fiacre strung his bow and plucked it to test the tension. “I suppose we should look for him.”

Splitting off from the others, Aymeric headed in the direction of the nest, a cold sense of dread creeping through him with every step. He crossed Black Iron Bridge at a stride and kept going. The sun sank rapidly in the west, and the moons were already on the rise, bathing the highlands in an eerie reddish glow.

When Aymeric finally found him, Estinien was standing at the edge of a rock outcropping, staring down into a canyon.

“Estinien!” he hissed. “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?”

Aymeric reached for his arm to pull him away from the ledge, then froze. The acrid smell filling his nostrils was familiar, the beating of leathery wings unmistakable. Beside him, Estinien was as still as death.

“Twelve above.”

* * *

 

He had never seen the like of it.

Below them, a writhing mass of scales and talons.The nest itself was constructed from stone, its architecture far more advanced than Estinien was expecting. Multiple tunnels wound through the earth and spires of rock jutted into the sky.

“Come, Estinien. We should head back to camp and report to the others.”

“We should strike while they are still unaware.”

“Do you not see how many there are? We couldn’t handle them on our own--”

He paused. A noise sounded from nearby-- the whistle of dragon wings cutting the air-- and Aymeric dove for cover, dragging Estinien with him.

A massive armored wyrm landed mere fulms away, claws scrabbling against the rock. Its head swivelled in their direction, yellow eyes aglow. Aymeric drew his bow and fired an arrow that glanced harmlessly off its side. He cursed as the wyrm lunged, fangs bared.

Estinien intervened at the last moment, aiming for its eye socket, but the creature was too fast for him, and its jaws closed around the wood of his lance and snapped it apart with a sickening crunch. Undeterred, it lowered its head to gore Aymeric with its horns. By hooking his bow about them and yanking hard to the side, Aymeric managed to knock them off their intended course, but he let out a cry of pain as they grazed his side instead.

“Aymeric!”

When he managed to stagger back to his feet, the color had drained from Aymeric’s face and he clutched at his side where blood was slowly blooming through the fabric of his tunic. The dragon rounded on him yet again, but this time, Estinien was ready. A growl tore from his throat, and he charged forward with naught but his hunting knife in hand

Just as the dragon was upon him, a shout sounded and Albertine slammed into it with her shield, knocking it away. Rosemonde was right behind her, lance raised aloft.

“Estinien! Get him away from here!” she yelled.

Estinien scrambled back toward where Aymeric had fallen. “Aymeric,” he said, fighting down panic, looking between the wyrm and his captain, lying prone on the ground. He hesitated for a moment before pulling Aymeric’s arm over his shoulder and lifting him up by his injured side, so that Aymeric’s body was cradled against his chest.

“Fiacre should be close behind,” Albertine said. “Go!”

Estinien made for the direction of the camp as fast as he could. When he came upon Fiacre, he set Aymeric down in the grass and collapsed to his knees beside him. Fiacre hurried over and began examining Aymeric’s wounds.

“What happened?” he asked.

“A wyrm, it sliced him with its horns--”

“I’ll have to check for poison.”

“The others are still fighting, I should…” he trailed off as Aymeric’s eyes opened.

“You’re afraid,” said Aymeric, his voice barely above a whisper. Estinien’s expression darkened.

“ _No_ ,” he hissed.

“It’s alright. You’d be a fool not to be. But you have to keep focused.”

“I--”

“Listen to me, Estinien.” Aymeric closed his eyes, struggling to cling to consciousness, and even through the roaring of blood in his ears Estinien could make out the desperation in his tone. “Come back alive. That is an order.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I’ll take care of him,” said Fiacre, resting Aymeric’s head across his lap. Estinien looked up to glare, jaw clenched, before standing, hands curling into fists at his sides. A wave of nausea hit him as for a moment, he saw not Aymeric lying on the ground, but his dead brother. 

“I’ll return soon,” he said.  

Back by the canyon’s edge, Albertine and Rosemonde were clearly beginning to tire against the wyrm. Albertine’s sword flashed through the air but her arms shook with the effort of holding it back. Rosemonde kept stumbling as the beast moved, her lance swinging in wide arcs.

Estinien grabbed the fallen half of his lance, but the dragon did not notice him, distracted as it was by his companions. Leaping into the air, he fell upon the dragon and pierced it at the joining of leg with body, into the softer hide. It shrieked in pain and Albertine took the opportunity to deal it a mighty blow with her sword,letting out a cry of triumph.

The dragon flew up in an attempted retreat, then swerved and crashed into the opposite rockface, sending cracks splintering across it. The outcropping on which they stood began to tilt.

“Move!” Rosemonde shouted.

The three of them took off at a sprint, a cloud of dust billowing up behind them as the walls of the canyon began to collapse inward. A low rumble echoed, followed by the beating of hundreds of wings, and the dragons all took to the sky at once.

Estinien squinted through the whirling dust, holding an arm over his mouth to keep from breathing it in. Shadows flew overhead as the sky was pierced with angry roars. Estinien sent up a silent prayer to Halone for the debris not to settle and reveal them-- he would just as soon have stayed and fought them all off, but down a weapon and two of their party, even he realized it was time to retreat.

They ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned, and they didn't stop running until they reached Fiacre and Aymeric.

* * *

 

Aymeric was moved the medical tent at the outpost, where Estinien sat vigil by his bed for hours after they returned. He slept a full day and night, weary from the toll of the healing magic used on his body.

Once the chirurgen had left from his morning examination, Estinien watched Aymeric’s peaceful expression with a dark look. 

“You’re going to hate me when you wake up,” he said under his breath

“He won’t hate you.” Estinien started at the sound of a voice from behind him and turned to see Rosemonde enter the tent. “He isn’t that kind of man,” she said. 

“I...” He trailed off. “I am unsure of how to face him.”

“Just say ‘I’m sorry,’” said Rosemonde. She took a seat beside him and propped her feet up on Aymeric’s bed. “Usually works for me when I’ve upset Albertine.” 

They fell into silence for a moment before Rosemonde spoke. 

“You know, you’re a swiving fool, but that was some excellent lancework.” 

Estinien grinned at her. “You as well. I’ll have some stiff competition for Azure Dragoon.” 

“Well, were I not planning to leave Ishgard, you’d certainly be in trouble.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Saving up to move to Limsa. That’s why I joined the order. Yes, I’m a Brume rat,” she added, seeing his puzzled expression. 

“Is Albertine also… from there?” 

Rosemonde actually laughed. Estinien stared at her. “This may come as a surprise to you, given her less-than-refined mannerisms, but Albertine is a high born woman. We met as recruits.”

“If she’s high-born, then you could just move wherever you want,” Estinien said. 

“She offered to pay our entire passage, but it’s always been my wish to leave on my own terms.” Rosemonde smiled at the ground. “Albertine agreed to humor me, for whatever reason.” 

They were interrupted by a groan from the bed. 

“Aymeric!” 

“Estinien… you’re alive,” he said, voice hoarse. “Is everyone else…?” 

"We’re fine,” Rosemonde cut in. 

“The nest is destroyed,” Estinien told him. “The dragons have fled to Fury knows where.”

“Promise me you will not do that again,” said Aymeric. “It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.” 

Estinien opened his mouth to protest, but Rosemonde held up a hand. “Now Aymeric,” she said. “This young man has been sitting like a stone at your bedside since you were injured. He scarce left you to eat.” 

“I apologize.” Aymeric closed his eyes. “I’m glad you are alright.” 

“I’ll get the others,” said Rosemonde, ducking out of the tent. 

“Oh Aymeric, we were so worried!” Albertine cried when she saw him. Rosemonde laid a firm hand on her shoulder, evidently to keep her from leaping forward and pinning Aymeric in a bone-crushing hug.

“Good to have you back, friend,” Fiacre said. He reached down to touch Aymeric’s hand. 

Aymeric struggled to a seated position and surveyed the group with a tired but focused gaze. 

“We should all rest and wash up ere we make for Dusk Vigil. It’s vital we make an impression on the Lord Commander as a capable force."

“Why?” Estinien asked. 

Aymeric’s mouth formed a thin line. “It doesn’t seem strange to you at all, how such a small band of soldiers was sent to assist the entirety of the Highlands militia?”

“Not with a party as skilled as ours.”

Fiacre snorted. Aymeric let out a long sigh. 

“The Lord Commander may not care about the insult, but I at least aim to soften the blow.”

* * *

 

By the afternoon, Aymeric was out of bed and moving about the camp, giving orders and helping pack for the next leg of their journey. Estinien tried to stay out of his way, but Aymeric caught him before long.

“I was about to go wash up. Will you accompany me? Please,” he said, in a tone that suggested Estinien really needed a bath. Estinien grumbled in agreement and followed after him. 

When they reached the stream, they stripped out of their habergeons and waded in up to their knees. The water, which ran from a mountain glacier, made Estinien’s legs go numb with cold. 

When the dried blood had been washed away, Aymeric’s wound looked nearly healed, a pink line at his side the only evidence it had ever existed. He splashed water over his hair, and Estinien followed the trail of droplets with his eyes as they slid down Aymeric’s chest. He turned away, embarrassed. 

“Would you mind washing my back? I’ll take care of yours for you.” Aymeric handed him a cloth. Estinien stared down at it as though he’d been given a knife and asked to stab him.

Aymeric breathed a soft sigh of contentment as Estinien rubbed the cloth across his shoulders. Estinien swallowed, feeling his heart quicken in his chest. 

“You never told me Rosemonde is leaving,” he said once he’d managed to find his voice again. He moved lower, brushing the cloth over the small of Aymeric’s back and tracing the dip in his spine. He dared not look down.  

Aymeric shifted under his ministrations. “Would that I could convince her to stay. Ishgard needs people like her. But she’s faced enough cruelty here for one lifetime.”

True, Estinien had grown up well enough in the care of Alberic, but that did not make him ignorant to the suffering of Ishgard’s people. It was the dragons to blame in the end, of course. The beasts always seemed to target the city’s most vulnerable populations.

“Finished?” Aymeric asked. Estinien realized he’d stopped moving the cloth and was simply resting his hand on Aymeric’s shoulder.

“Oh-- yes,” Estinien said, starting. 

“Let me do you now.” Aymeric advanced on him and took the cloth from his hands. He soaked the cloth in the stream and then wrung it out right over Estinien’s head. 

“Ah,” said Aymeric, pushing back his wet bangs. “So you do have a face under there.” 

Estinien scowled at him, looking for all the world like a drenched and unhappy cat, and Aymeric tried, with little success, not to laugh.

* * *

 

“I won’t take offense should you decide to spend tonight elsewhere,” said Estinien as they returned to the tent.

“The nearest village doesn’t even have an inn, my friend,” Aymeric said, throwing him an amused look. “Where would I be going?” 

“I meant…” Estinien began, and then dropped to a low mutter, “with Fiacre.” Aymeric almost didn’t catch it. 

“Estinien,” he said, expression growing more bewildered by the minute. “What in the Fury’s name are you talking about?” 

“You’re swiving him, aren’t you?”

Aymeric stared. “Er, no, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

It was Estinien’s turn to look confused. “Then surely he is in love with you.” 

“What? No.” 

“But the way he acts around you…” 

“I would not call what Fiacre has for me love, except in the sense of friendship.” Aymeric paused, as though debating whether to add the next part or not. “We have been together, when we were younger, but we are not that way now.”

“I shouldn’t speak as though I have any experience in matters of romance,” Estinien said, an unwelcome heat rising in his cheeks. 

“Perhaps you find it improper for a follower of Halone to commit such indiscretions.” Aymeric laughed, although it carried little humor. “The sins of the father, I suppose.”

“I don’t think that.” Estinien was definitely flushing now. He thanked the Fury it was dark inside the tent. 

“Sorry,” Aymeric said, expression softening. “I forget you aren’t-- pray forgive me.” 

“There is naught to forgive,” said Estinien. 

“Are you alright?” Aymeric asked, peering at him. 

“Still shaken from earlier,” Estinien lied. “I shall take some fresh air.”

He ducked out of the tent and made for the woods in long strides. 

So he and Fiacre had been together. The thought of Aymeric kissing Fiacre came to Estinien’s mind unbidden. No, not just kissing, they had done more than that…

A heat had been building in him since they bathed together-- perhaps longer than that. His prick ached, heavy between his legs. He slipped a hand into the waistband of his trousers and sagged against a nearby tree. If he took care of it, he would be able to rid himself of such unnecessary distractions. Trying to push the images from earlier out of his mind, Estinien concentrated instead on the physical act, tightening his fist and rutting into it so he could come and get it over with.

Instead, however, his thoughts turned once more to Aymeric, the long curve of his back as he bent to wash his arms, the way the river water rolled off his skin. He bit down on his lower lip to stifle a groan, equal parts distress and arousal. How would Aymeric touch him? Perhaps he would be gentle, as he was when he washed Estinien, or perhaps...

“Estinien!” came Aymeric’s voice from the direction of the campsite, and Estinien spent into his hand with a quiet gasp. He flushed in shame. What the hells was wrong with him? He hastily cleaned himself off and stumbled back into camp, breathing hard.

“What is it?” he snapped. Aymeric stood by their tent, his features stricken and pale. 

“I-- I was worried when you wandered off again,” he said.

“Well, I am fine,” Estinien said, stalking past him. 

As they laid down, Estinien remained overly aware of Aymeric’s warmth and cadence of breath beside him, guilt churning in his gut. 

“Aymeric?” he said tentatively. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Try to rest now,” Aymeric said. His voice was soft, and the forgiveness in it made Estinien's chest ache. “Tomorrow we travel to Dusk Vigil.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is kind of a short one! also i realized i forgot to mention this, but est and aym are both 23 at this point.

 

 

Aymeric could tell that Estinien was miserable. He spent much of the journey from Riversmeet in a sullen sort of silence, staring out at the horizon and not paying attention to the group conversation (though he didn’t stray ahead so far ahead anymore). 

Dusk Vigil loomed before them, a mighty fortress built into the side of the mountains that separated Coerthas from the Dravanian Forelands. On its southern side, a lake called Banepool rippled with the wind coming down the mountain. They crossed Banepool Bridge and were greeted by a pair of guards who escorted them into the fortress. 

Before long, the party arrived at the Seat of the Lord Commander, a grand room lit with chandeliers and draped with Ishgard-blue bannerets. Yuhelmeric sat at his desk in the center, and off to the side sat a nervous-looking elezen scribbling away in a book. 

“Lord Commander,” said Aymeric, keeping his head bowed. “We come on behalf of Lord Faucheux.”

“Fauxcheux?” Yuhelmeric surveyed their company with poorly concealed scorn, grey eyes flashing. He would have been handsome, perhaps, if his face were not so stern. “From Ishgard’s Holy Order, then.” 

“Yes, Ser.”

“I ask for a battalion, and this is what I receive?” His brow furrowed. “I take from this that the See cares naught whether we live or die.”

Aymeric, with all the grace of a diplomat, said nothing. Beside him, Estinien tensed.

Yuhelmeric sighed. “You have traveled far, and so I shall not do you the disservice of bandying words. Neurtaille?”

“Ser?” The timid Elezen who had been taking notes since they arrived raised his head. 

“Show them to their quarters.”

“Aye, Ser.”

The company followed him from the room, but not before Aymeric caught a glimpse of the Lord Commander putting his head in his hands. 

“Not one for guests, is he?” Fiacre said as they traveled down the long stone hall to the barracks. “Neurtaille, is it?” 

“You may call me Pascaleret. Please don’t think too poorly of him,” he said. “He is a good, pious man. His father is a priest, you know.”

“As though that means anything,” Estinien muttered, but thankfully Pascaleret did not hear.

“Of late he has been overwhelmed with issues from all sides. He’s hardly had a moment to return to his new wife in Ishgard, so dedicated is he to the defense of the Vigil.”  When they came to a stop outside of their room, Pascaleret’s voice dropped to a hush. “Supplies have been running thin with the airships unwilling to fly this close to Dravanian territory. The See ought to be ashamed, leaving their most loyal men, the very shields on Ishgard’s walls, out here to starve.” His cheeks became flushed with excitement at his own speech. 

“Do you not find such talk heretical?” Fiacre asked.

“Nay,” said Pascaleret, squaring his jaw defiantly, “only truthful.” 

“Thank you for telling us,” said Aymeric. “I promise to bring this to the attention of my superiors.”

Pascaleret dipped his head in appreciation. “We have drills at six bells tomorrow morning on the training field,” he told them. “You are welcome to join us.”

They bade one another goodnight and parted ways. As soon as Pascaleret had closed the door, Estinien flung his pack on one of the four beds. The walls rang with his voice, every word echoing off the high ceilings.

“That ingrate commander!” he burst out.  “He didn’t even give you a chance to speak of the nest we destroyed. One that slipped past his soldiers’ defenses, no less.”

“Estinien, quiet!” Aymeric hissed. 

“Let him hear,” Estinien said, lip curling in contempt. “He has no right to dismiss you in such a way! The injuries you have suffered for their sake--” He faltered as Aymeric locked eyes with him.

“For your sake, Estinien.”

He knew it was harsh, and Estinien’s expression darkened immediately, but he was tired, and frustrated, and this blasted mission had nearly gotten them killed already. 

Aymeric splashed his face with water from the basin on the nightstand before climbing into bed. He hoped for Estinien’s sake he suffered no nightmares during their stay. The walls of the Vigil were unforgiving to noise.

* * *

Sleeping in a real bed left Aymeric feeling rested, though it did little to improve his mood. Estinien looked anywhere but at Aymeric as he ran through the morning drills. Aymeric was watching him somewhat forlornly when Yuhelmeric approached.

“Captain Aymeric?”

“Yes?” He turned with a start. 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday,” Yuhelmeric said. “We lost a scouting party with some of my best soldiers a fortnight ago, and I have been ill-prepared to receive visitors.” 

“I… I see.” 

“Not that it is any excuse for how I treated you,” he said. 

Silence stretched between them. On the field, Estinien sparred with several soldiers at a time, fending them off with ease. 

“I must compliment you,” said Yuhelmeric. “He is quite the dragoon.”

“One of our best." There was no helping the fondness that crept into his voice. 

“Perhaps he could stay a little longer? We have dire need of warriors like him.”

“No, I’m afraid--” Aymeric began, but  Estinien caught him observing and looked away, and Aymeric felt his throat constrict.

“A shame,” Yuhelmeric said, “but I can see why you would be unwilling to part with him.” 

Irritation flared in Aymeric’s gut, both with Yuhelmeric’s question and his own irrational response. 

“What did he want?” Fiacre asked as they made their way back to the barracks. Aymeric lowered his voice before answering. 

“He was admiring Estinien’s lancework. Asked if he would be willing to transfer.”

“You told him no."

“I know not why. Certainly Estinien could be stationed in the Forelands-- in fact, he might benefit from Yuhelmeric’s experience living close to the Horde.” He sighed. “‘Twas a selfish thing.” 

“Then tell him what Yuhelmeric told you,” Fiacre said. “See if he accepts the offer, though I doubt he will.”

“Why not?” 

“Are you joking?” Fiacre snorted. “He thinks you hung the moons.” 

“I fear he sees me as naught but a shadow who occasionally darkens his path,” Aymeric said with a frown. “At worst, a hindrance.” 

“Do you not see the way he looks at you? The poor boy is besotted.” Fiacre shook his head in disbelief. “I swear, Aymeric, you’re denser than a mossy goobbue sometimes.”

“You are serious,” said Aymeric, slow realization dawning on him. 

“Best of luck,” Fiacre said. His mouth curved into a broad grin. “You know, dragoons are particularly limber.”

Aymeric gave him a scandalized look, which made him burst out laughing. 

“Oh, and Aymeric?” 

“What?”

“You didn’t hear a word of this from me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg im so sorry this took so long but i accidentally a really long chapter and ended up splitting it so the next one will be ready sooner. i’m pretty excited about chapter 8. >:)

Aymeric spent the rest of the day in the Seat of the Lord Commander, giving Yuhelmeric a detailed report of what their party had discovered. 

Meanwhile, Estinien wandered the halls of the Vigil, a restless itch beneath his skin. Eventually he meandered back to the room, where Albertine sat cleaning off her shield on one of the beds .

“You look as eager to leave as I, friend,” she said with a laugh. The endearment gave him pause as he went to hang up his cloak, but if she noticed, she did not comment. 

“Where is Rosemonde?” he asked. 

“Out on patrol with the Vigil guard,” she said, then chuckled when she saw Estinien’s face. “Oh, spare me that look. She invited herself, otherwise they would have nothing to do with her.” 

“What will happen now?”

“I suspect Yuhelmeric will compose a letter thanking the See for its graciousness, and it will all be bullshit. Then we return to our company as usual.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, Estinien picking at a hole in his bedsheet, and Albertine humming to herself as she polished her shield. 

“Wonder why Yuhelmeric is keeping him so long,” Estinien muttered under his breath. 

“He really does have an effect on you,” Albertine said. He looked up at her in alarm. “I saw you around sometimes before we met, but you always looked so serious,” she explained. “You’re different around him.”

“He’s… tolerable,” said Estinien. 

“Is he,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance which he studiously ignored. 

He cleared his throat, casting about for a new conversation topic. “Rosemonde told me you are highborn.”

She grinned. Perhaps at his clumsy attempt to change the subject. “Yes, I am. My family makes up a branch house of Durendaire.” 

Her auburn hair and dark skin made it obvious, in retrospect, but Estinien never claimed familiarity with any of the the goings-on of the four high houses.

“So that shield...”

“Aye, used to belong to my sister, though some good it did her.” She smiled down at the crest. “Fell in battle not six summers ago.” 

Estinien fell silent, knowing from experience that whatever words he offered would sound like empty platitudes. 

Both of them paused at the sound of armored boots reverberating down the hall. The door swung open and there stood Aymeric, wild-eyed and out of breath. 

“Albertine, Estinien, thank Fury,” he gasped. “Come with me. The patrol has been attacked.”

* * *

Albertine rushed to Rosemonde’s side as soon as she saw her coming through the gates. She was one of a small group of knights limping or holding their sides in pain as they dragged themselves into the fort.

“What happened?” Albertine asked, slipping an arm under Rosemonde’s and supporting her weight. 

“Aevis,” Rosemonde said through gritted teeth, clutching her shoulder. “Ambushed us in the foothills.”

The chirurgeons arrived moments later, moving the wounded according to the urgency of care needed. Those who were able assisted in fetching clean water, bandages and bedding. 

Rosemonde was one of the lucky ones, suffering minor burns on her arms and chest but nothing altogether serious. Estinien had some knowledge of treating wounds from his training as a Temple Knight, but for some of the victims the most he could offer was a drink and an arm to hold onto. He excused himself from the bedside of a knight who had gone still and cold when his vision began to swim.

Aymeric found him in the courtyard, bent over and retching. 

“Estinien?”

“I am fine, just the smell was--”  _ familiar _ , he did not say, embarrassed to be caught in a moment of weakness. 

Aymeric touched his shoulder.  "I never apologized for what I said earlier. I'm sorry," he said. "Please let me know if you need anything." 

"You're my captain." Estinien straightened up and brushed his hand away. "You need not ask forgiveness for keeping your men in line."

Aymeric looked at him with wide blue eyes, and Estinien felt another pang in his gut. "Am I not also your friend?" 

"...I am sorry, too." He shook his head. "We've no time to talk of this now."

Aymeric nodded. "After we return home."

"After that." 

* * *

The five of them slept in shifts, taking only an hour or so at a time to find a quiet place to rest. Fiacre and Estinien volunteered to assist the night guard, who were wary of Dravanian aggression and short several soldiers from the attack. Meanwhile, Aymeric organized efforts to inform the families of the fallen back in Falcon’s Nest and the Holy See.

It was in those bleak hours that Aymeric found the Lord Commander to be nothing short of heroic. Yuhelmeric traveled to the site of the attack to retrieve the rest of the wounded and dead, leading a party himself. Later, Aymeric watched him take one of the younger knights aside to calm him, speaking in a low voice, and he marveled at his ability to keep the Vigil running even as the world around seemed to be falling apart. 

The next morning, after a long and difficult night, he invited Aymeric to a short rest at the Seat. 

“Thank the Fury for your knights. We were ill-prepared,” Yuhelmeric said as he poured them both tea. “This is not the worst loss we’ve suffered as of late, but it came as a shock.” 

“I only wish we were given a larger force to help.” 

Yuhelmeric gave him a weary smile. “You’re an honest man, Aymeric, though I’m not certain how far that will go with the Church. They’re not fond of your like up there.”

_ You have no idea _ , thought Aymeric. 

“If you do make it to command, I pray that you remember us,” he said. “I know I haven’t been the most hospitable to you, and for that I apologize. But on behalf of my knights, I…” he trailed off. 

“...Of course,” said Aymeric. “I could scarce forget.” 

The party returned to Ishgard two days later bearing a letter for Faucheux. Yuhelmeric’s parting words followed Aymeric the whole way: “Whatever may come, know we will defend the Vigil to the last. With or without Ishgard’s help.”

* * *

“I am pleased to hear Ser Yuhelmeric was not too proud to make use of you,” said Fauxcheux as Aymeric finished relaying the details of their mission. “And what of the boy, Estinien?”

“Estinien is one of our most hardworking knights,” Aymeric said. “Watching him in battle has convinced me he is an ideal candidate for the dragoon unit.” 

“That he is skilled was never in question,” said Faucheux. “It is that the boy has shown himself to be incapable of following orders.”

“He listens to me,” Aymeric said, then immediately regretted it, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Does he.” Fauxcheux gave him a withering look. “You know, Yuhelmeric is not a man of empty praise. I am curious to know of what transpired that he would speak so highly of you.” 

Aymeric left the Lord Commander’s office deep in thought. He had not spoken with Estinien of transferring him to the dragoons, not out of any regard for their respective ranks, but rather out of a sense that doing so might threaten the what had been growing between them these past few moons. A small part of it was selfish, he knew. 

He had not had time to think on Fiacre’s words before the ambush. Estinien… besotted? The idea was somewhat laughable.

A familiar face barred his exit to the square, surprising him.

“Ser Alberic,” Aymeric said. “What brings you to the Congregation?”  

“Captain, I must speak with you.” 

“Certainly.”

“In private,” he added. 

Aymeric nodded, perplexed, then followed him on a winding route around the Forgotten Knight. The two of them ducked into a darker corner of the Brume, and by that time Aymeric’s skin was prickling with a cold sense of dread. 

“What is this about, Ser Bale?” 

Alberic glanced around once more before speaking in a low, hurried voice. “I wanted to tell you that what happened to Ferndale was my fault.” 

“How can that be? It was burnt to the ground by Nidhogg.” Aymeric had heard, like many Ishgardian children of an age, the tale of Nidhogg’s defeat at the hands of Ser Alberic. Ferndale was rarely mentioned by name in such stories-- it no longer existed, after all.

“When Nidhogg and I fought, I sank my lance into one of the beast’s eye sockets, but found myself hypnotized by its gaze nonetheless. Filled with a terrible rage not mine own, I surrendered the power of Azure Dragoon before the wyrm could possess me.”

“You… surrendered it?” 

“Even as Nidhogg fell, the horde remained, and I could save but one child from its wrath in my weakened state.” 

Realization dawned on Aymeric, and his stomach turned. “He does not know.” 

“No,” said Alberic. “Estinien believes I lost my powers due to injuries sustained from Nidhogg.” 

“Why are you telling me this? I have no wish to conspire with you in keeping this from him!” 

“The Trial of the Eye fast approaches. I’ve always known he would be chosen-- ‘Tis only fitting that Nidhogg take a son from me when my weakness cost Estinien his family.” 

In the alleyway, a Temple Guard glanced at them as she wandered past, and Alberic took a step closer. 

“Listen to yourself speak,” said Aymeric, backing up until his shoulders pressed to the dirty stone wall behind him. “He isn’t going anywhere--”

“As is, he won’t be able to fight the Eye’s power. It will overwhelm him. The desire to protect and the desire to avenge can ill be reconciled, and I fear the latter grows stronger in him.” He was gaunt in the dim light, the shadows thrown over his scars making them appear larger, like they were splitting his face apart. “Perhaps he will heed your advice better than mine. Perhaps… you could give him something to protect.” 

“I have no intention of giving up on him.” Aymeric pushed past and made to leave, almost missing Alberic’s next words, quiet as they were.

“...his name day, Aymeric. The tenth since he lost his village.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Legend told of a great field of lilies that sprung up from where Reinette cast down Gae Bolg, so once every year Ishgard became covered in flowers in memory of her bravery and sacrifice. The Durendaire manor was no different-- wreaths and garlands had been arranged all around the ballroom, and the guests wore lilies in their hair or pinned to their clothing. Musicians played while couples twirled around the dance floor at a dizzying tempo.

Estinien had never been inside one of the four noble houses before. It was almost too much to take in-- smooth marble floors inlaid with the Durendaire sigil of the golden bell, the grand crystal chandelier that hung overhead, a fountain off to the side, guarded by a statue of the Goddess herself. 

He felt out of place, even if he did not look it, dressed in finery as he was. Aymeric had even helped him with his hair, twisting into a neat plait at the back of his neck the night before. He’d been reluctant at first but soon closed his eyes and leaned back into the touch, Aymeric’s fingers brushing through tangles and smoothing his hair back with gentle hands. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been touched in such a way-- it was unfamiliar, but good. 

Aymeric had asked a week before if Estinien would accompany him to the St. Reinette’s Day ball at the Durendaire estate. They had been drinking at the Forgotten Knight, though Aymeric had been oddly tense up til then. 

“I wouldn’t know how to behave,” Estinien had answered without self-pity, a simple statement of fact.

“Dancing and drinking will be the order of the day. And conversation, I suppose, but the drinking ought to help with that.” 

He had stared at Aymeric. “You can dance?” Of course he could dance. He could do anything.

“I attend such functions on occasion,” he’d said, though the way his eyes shifted suggested it might be more often than that. 

Estinien cleared his throat. “I’ll come with you, but I’m leaving if I find it dull.”

Now that he was here, of course, Aymeric was nowhere to be seen. 

Unsure of what to do, he sought out a familiar face and approached Albertine, who was speaking with a foppish man that looked to be a Durendaire. Her face lit up when she saw him coming. 

“Estinien! I wasn’t sure you’d make it. This is my cousin, Jannequinard,” she said. “Jannequinard, this is Estinien. We travelled to Dusk Vigil together.”  

“You never told me your squadron was full of handsome men, Bertie,” said Jannequinard. Albertine rolled her eyes. 

“I wouldn’t know, Janne.”

“Er, of course.” 

Estinien’s urgent and immediate escape from the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Aymeric through the main doors, clad in a dark blue tunic embroidered with gold. Crystals dangled from both of his ears, catching the light when he turned his head. 

Jannequinard said something, but Estinien didn’t hear, his breath caught in his throat. _ I have never seen the likes of such beauty.  _

Judging from their excited whispering, the cluster of noblewomen nearby seemed to think so as well, and Estinien resigned himself to a night spent sitting in the garden and drinking too much wine. 

The sharp click of boots on marble tore Estinien from his thoughts. Aymeric had crossed the floor and was extending a hand to him, palm open, smiling with a brilliance that almost hurt to look at.

“Good evening, my friend. Would you care to dance?” 

Estinien Wyrmblood feared neither man nor dragon, but somehow the prospect of taking Aymeric’s hand at that moment had him wanting to run right out of the manor. He cleared his throat. 

“No.”

Aymeric did not appear surprised in the slightest. “Later, perhaps.” He turned to greet Albertine and Jannequinard, and Estinien took the opportunity to snatch a glass of wine from a passing server and slip from the ballroom. 

* * *

 

The garden was a lush maze of topiaries and trellises ideal for couples looking for privacy. He dodged several before finding an unoccupied bench among the foliage, collapsing on it and taking a long draught of wine.

Barely a week ago he had been looking for dragons atop the walls of Dusk Vigil, cold and tired in the dark of the early morning. The incongruity of his time at the Vigil with the decadence of the manor made the drink sour in his mouth, but he downed the glass anyway, leaning back and letting its warmth wash over him.

A familiar voice carried through the night air. 

“...has him dressed up and parading him around like he’s a trained bear, hardly behavior befitting a captain.” 

Estinien recognized it as Zephirin instantly. Light laughter floated up into the garden. Near shaking with anger, he stopped himself from going to find the source of the voice and challenging him, knowing that getting into a fight would only hurt Aymeric. 

Fury, but he knew. He didn’t deserve Aymeric’s friendship. Revenge was his sole purpose and the only reason he did not die with the others. 

No matter how much Estinien wanted him, Aymeric was yet another distraction he would have to cast aside in order to defeat Nidhogg. 

He needed to leave.

He made it halfway down the front corridor. 

“Estinien!” He turned at the sound of his name, and Aymeric struggled past several inebriated party-goers to catch him by the arm. “Estinien, wait--”

He had loosened his collar, exposing down to the hollow at the base of his neck, and his face was flushed from the dancing and wine. There was a flower tangled in his hair. Estinien wet his lips, feeling as though a hot coal had been dropped into his stomach. 

“Hope no one notices I’ve slipped off,” he said, looking around. “A gentleman of Dzemael keeps trying to regale me with stories of his heroics on the battlefield.”

“At this point I’m not sure if most of these people would notice if the Great Wyrm himself descended upon them.” 

Aymeric smiled. “How I’ve missed your sparkling wit tonight. Here, I have something for you,” he said. He pulled from his pocket a thin silver wristlet. With a tender expression, he slipped it onto Estinien’s wrist. “You didn’t seem the type for ornamentation, so it’s rather simple… If you don’t like it I can return it.”

The band fit perfectly. Carved into the silver was a downward-facing spearhead: the sigil of the dragoon. Estinien’s throat closed as he was abandoned by the ability of speech. An ache began in his chest, squeezing his ribs and his heart as a wyrm might constrict its prey. He forced it down until it settled like a knot in his stomach. 

“I cannot…” He looked up from the gift, lost for words. For a moment, his resolve might have broken. Aymeric drew close enough that Estinien could see the dark fan of his eyelashes, feel warm breath on his lips, and he wavered. 

“Happy name day,” he said, laying a hand on Estinien’s arm. He tilted his head so that his lips brushed Estinien’s cheek. 

Estinien jerked away. 

“I’m sorry,” Aymeric said, stumbling back. 

“How did you know,” he said, fixing his eyes on the ground. 

“Estinien, please, I didn’t mean--” 

“To kiss me?” Saying it aloud made his face burn. 

“To upset you.” He could tell Aymeric was trying not to look hurt. “I asked Alberic.” 

“That fool. I didn’t tell him for years. He should’ve told you I never celebrate it.”

“But you agreed to come with me.” Aymeric’s hand was on him again

“Against my better judgement, aye,” said Estinien, and when Aymeric wrapped his arms around him, he could pretend it was the wine that made him return the embrace. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ssssorry this took so long… i know the lore book says heustienne is like 9 yrs younger than estinien but i dont see how that could be if they were rivals, it wouldnt make any damn sense in the actual game. So im ignoring it, theyre the same age. 
> 
>  
> 
> Im hard at work on a long-ish emmcred fic rn so uh, Please Look Forward To It

Aymeric returned to a dark and quiet house. The Borel’s longtime butler had made himself scarce, perhaps under the assumption that Aymeric would be bringing someone home with him. He needn’t have worried, Aymeric thought to himself as he hung his coat. They had parted ways outside of the Durendaire estate, which was for the best--they both needed time to think.

Guilt nagged at him regardless. He shouldn’t have pushed Estinien to come with him, not when he knew that even small gatherings at the Forgotten Knight sometimes had him on edge.

He almost tripped on his way to the bedroom in the dark, barely making it up the stairs to his room. The Borel manor was his in name, but lately he felt a stranger to it, so often had he been away with his duties as captain. Of course, he’d also been spending an inordinate amount of time at the barracks, where Estinien lodged while on duty.

He wished he could have introduced Estinien to his parents.

Reaching his bed, he collapsed in it without bothering to undress. There was a pattering of small feet and a startled meow.  

“Angel?”

Aymeric sat up so she could hop into his lap. The cat brushed beneath his chin with her fluffy white tail before curling up to allow herself to be petted.

Try as he might, he could not put the kiss from his mind, nor the hitch in Estinien’s breath as Aymeric’s lips brushed his cheek. He now knew a gentleness in him, belied by his sharp eyes and sharper tongue. A glimpse of the young man who nearly perished in Nidhogg’s flames some eleven years ago.

As he stroked Angel, thoughts elsewhere, she abruptly decided she no longer wished to be petted and turned to scratch up his hand.

“Sorry, Angel,” he murmured, letting her jump from his lap and streak away into another room. Blood began to well up over the stinging cuts. He laid back on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would soon come to ease his mind.

* * *

“Welcome, my friend,” said Montorgains, taking Alberic by the hand. “I see you’ve managed to drag your boy along.”

“Congratulations on Heustienne’s transfer. What an honor at a young age.” Alberic smiled.

“I could not be prouder of her.”

Estinien lingered behind his father in the hallway, trailing a little ways after the two men. Though Montorgains came from a sizable house, he possessed nowhere near the wealth of the Durendaires (much to Estinien’s relief).

Heustienne was already seated at the dining room table. She smiled at Estinien as he joined her, and he nodded back. She had oft been kind to him when he was young, inviting him to spar with her or telling him stories of her past. As they grew older they grew apart-- both were acutely aware that only one of them would be able to become Azure Dragoon.

“Perhaps Estinien will be leaving us soon as well-- though with you as his mentor, one might say he already has the best training around,” Montorgains said.

“He is an excellent pupil, but I fear my teachings are no substitute for learning afield.”

“Come, Alberic, you’re much too modest!”

The farewell feast arrived and Estinien piled his plate high with roast fowl and pasties, ignoring Alberic’s disapproving looks as he ate more than his fill.

After they had finished, they sat around the table, talking and drinking (the other three talked; Estinien mostly concentrated on nursing his tankard of ale).

“Father gave me Peregrine as a going-away present,” said Heustienne. “He told me he once used it to save you from a drake, is that true?”

“Aye, that it is,” said Alberic. “When the two of us were dragoons, your father rescued me from all kinds of scrapes.”

“I imagine you’ll use it to get Estinien out of trouble,” Montorgains said, chuckling.

Heustienne smiled at Estinien, as if to suggest some sort of private joke between them. Suddenly self-conscious, he looked down, twisting the bracelet Aymeric had given him back and forth around his wrist.

“My daughter, the next Azure Dragoon. She’ll beat your boy yet, Alberic.”

Heustienne rolled her eyes. “Father, please.”

Orphans though they both were, in a way Estinien envied her relationship with her adoptive father. It was sweet and wholly unlike how he was with Alberic, who had never been prepared for fatherhood-- ah, but Estinien was an _excellent_ pupil.

“May the best dragoon win,” said Alberic with a genial smile.

“Hear, hear,” Montorgains said as he raised his tankard in a toast.

* * *

 Their knightly duties continued apace, and a week passed before they could arrange to meet at the Forgotten Knight again. Having failed to dispose of them in Western Coerthas, it seemed the Lord Commander planned to work them all to death instead. 

When Estinien arrived, he stood at the balcony, looking down at the group talking and laughing in the dim light. As if on cue, Aymeric looked up, face brightening when he recognized him.

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he said as Estinien joined them.

“So?”

“I was unsure whether you would like it. I’m glad.”

He did not speak of the ball any further, and Estinien breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“Have you met Handeloup?” Aymeric inclined his head in the direction of the Elezen man seated next to Fiacre. “Commander, this is Estinien.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Handeloup, nodding. He had a stiff demeanor that was ill-suited to the raucous atmosphere of the Knight, and for that Estinien tolerated him already.  

“He’s been on the front lines for several moons now, so we were just catching him up on our time in the highlands,” Aymeric explained.

“I daresay, Faucheux was less than pleased when we all returned in one piece,” said Fiacre.

“Piss on him,” Estinien said, and the table erupted into laughter. Albertine slapped his shoulder with such force he almost worried for holding his lance the next day.

By the end of the night, the combination of their difficult week and the revelry had worn most of them out. Rosemonde looked as though she were about to fall asleep on Albertine’s shoulder at any moment, and Fiacre had draped himself across the lap of an increasingly flustered Handeloup. 

As the rest of the group bid their farewells and departed for home, Estinien and Aymeric lingered outside. Aymeric tucked his arms over his chest and shivered.

“Cold, isn’t it? Winter comes early this year.”

“I suppose.”

“Estinien…” Aymeric looked at him as though he wanted to say something else, his expression troubled.

“Yes?”

“I... Forgive me.”

Taken with a sudden rush of courage and heedless of any passersby, Estinien pressed his mouth to Aymeric’s, half expecting him to pull away. Instead, Aymeric kissed back, soft lips parting to allow Estinien entrance. Estinien tangled his fingers in Aymeric’s hair and drew him close. He tasted sweet and warm.

It might have been minutes or a bell before they broke apart. 

“Would you come back with me?” Aymeric asked in almost a whisper, stroking Estinien’s cheek with the back of his hand. Estinien managed a nod, trying not to dwell on-- on what that meant, things he had scarce allowed himself to think even when he was alone.  

And though he was afraid, and his heart threatened to burst from beating so hard, he did not think it possible to be so happy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo finals kind of ate up my month but now i’m free!! So hopefully the next chapter should be up sooner.

The Borel manor lamps had been turned down when Estinien and Aymeric arrived, so Aymeric took him by the hand to lead him upstairs. He sent up a silent prayer to the goddess that Angel would remain asleep, as she tended not to be fond of visitors. 

Despite the chill of the night outside, his room was quite warm, a fire burning low in the hearth in anticipation of Aymeric’s arrival. Estinien dropped Aymeric’s hand and moved closer. 

“I thought I’d had enough of nobility for one moon,” he said. He reached up to take a small statuette of Halone from the mantle and examine it. Aymeric had received the figure as a gift from his mother when he turned fifteen, and it had watched over him ever since. “To think, you’ve been living here all this time.”  

“Does it surprise you?” 

“Not in the least,” said Estinien. “Though I suppose at times it slips my mind. I see you in armor than oft than finery.” 

“It never seemed to matter to you before.” 

Estinien’s mouth drew into a thin line. “It does not now, either.”

“You still wish to bed me?” Aymeric asked, removing his tassets. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Estinien began to undress as well, his motions hesitant as he stripped off his habergeon and took a seat on the bed in his smallclothes, avoiding Aymeric’s gaze. He had the strong and supple body that came with years using a lance, and now it was entirely tense, his muscles coiled tight. 

Aymeric slid out of his mail and approached the edge of the bed. He sat down beside Estinien, close enough that their bare thighs almost touched.  Remembering how Estinien had gone all calm and quiet when Aymeric had fixed his braid, practically melting against him, he carded a hand through Estinien’s hair, dragging his fingernails over his scalp.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

By way of answering, Estinien arched up to kiss him, clumsy and halting, his nose bumping into Aymeric’s. Aymeric tilted his head to fit their mouths together, gently guiding Estinien with a light touch at his jaw. He tasted faintly of the mulled wine they’d had earlier.    
  
"You’ve done this before," Estinien said, pulling back.    
  
"You’ve never...?"

"No.” 

There was a pause where the only sound was the wind outside and their ragged breathing. Aymeric froze, suddenly fearing if he spoke it would all collapse and Estinien would realize his mistake, that he would leave. Estinien just leaned forward a little, his eyes bright in the dim light of the room. 

“Who was it with?”    
  
"Another boy I met through my studies. And then later, when I joined the Knights--" He stopped, seeing Estinien’s face fall. “Does that trouble you?” 

“No. Only that I have little experience.”

"We will do what you want,” he said. “If you wish to stop, you need only tell me so.” 

"I don't know what I want.” Estinien looked down.   
  
"When you are alone, what do you think about?" Aymeric asked, causing him to make a rather undignified choking noise. Aymeric waited for him to finish before continuing. “I want to see that your first time is an enjoyable one.”

Estinien swallowed. “You,” he finally said in a rough voice, “holding me down and taking your pleasure from me.” 

“Fury, Estinien.” Aymeric reached out to pull him closer and he shivered, throat working as Aymeric’s hand settled at the base of his skull. “Have you the slightest idea of what you do to me?” 

“Tell me what I should do,” Estinien said. 

Aymeric pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’d like you to touch yourself for me.”

“Why?” he asked, and then, his voice a little more uncertain, “Do you not want to?”    


“I do, very much,” Aymeric said. “But I want you to be more at ease first.” 

Estinien adjusted on the bed so that his back was to the headboard, his legs spread and his underwear shoved down around his thighs. Already half hard, he began to stroke himself slowly, and Aymeric sat beside him, watching his cheeks flush and his eyes flutter closed.

“ Good ,” said Aymeric, “that’s perfect.”

He watched Estinien’s brow knit and his tongue slip out to wet his lips, his other hand sliding between his legs to cup his balls. 

“You’ve thought of me before, while doing this.” 

Estinien gave him a tight nod. 

Halone help him, it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to see Estinien give himself over to pleasure; to hear him cry out Aymeric’s name; to be joined with him. 

Estinien faltered when he moved. 

“Keep going,” said Aymeric, “I have you.”

Placing his knees on either side of him, Aymeric straddled his hips and pressed his hands to Estinien’s chest, tracing the scars that stretched over his skin and feeling Estinien’s pulse jump under his fingertips. Aymeric’s own heartbeat quickened in kind, and he shifted, letting his arousal rub against Estinien’s stomach. Estinien turned his head away, biting hard into his lower lip to stifle a moan as he continued to stroke himself. 

“You’re doing so well,” Aymeric murmured, lips brushing his ear. Estinien's movements grew sloppier when Aymeric leaned in to kiss him, mouth parting to allow his tongue entrance. 

“Fury--” Estinien shuddered when Aymeric took him in hand. His cock was similar in length but thicker than his own, and it strained against his grip. Aymeric circled the head with his thumb, spreading the moisture that had gathered at the tip and listening to Estinien’s breathing grow labored. 

It filled him with a sense of wonder-- not too long ago, Estinien barely looked Aymeric’s way, and now he was spread out before him on his bed, flushed and bare and yielding so sweetly to his touch. 

“Please, Aymeric,” said Estinien, “I’m close--”

The longing in his voice was more than Aymeric could take. He lined their cocks up and pushed them together, rocking into his fist. 

It was fumbling and desperate, Estinien grinding against him and clutching at his hips while Aymeric buried his face in Estinien’s hair, breathing in his scent and laying kisses along his neck. Aymeric's cock slipped along the crease of his thigh as his thrusting grew more and more erratic. 

Release came for Estinien first and he arched up, spilling between their bodies. He let out a moan that Aymeric swallowed with a kiss.

“Estinien,” he breathed, pressing their foreheads together before he came with a sharp exhale, Estinien’s seed slicking his fingers and mixing with his own. 

Afterward, they collapsed, out of breath for several moments before Aymeric rose  to fetch a cloth. Estinien spoke little, but he looked more at ease than Aymeric had seen him in some time, unresistant when Aymeric gently cleaned him off and attempted to smooth his hair back in order.

Something was there, hanging in the room between them, in Estinien’s quiet “Good night,” and it prickled on Aymeric’s lips, but he did not give voice to it. It was too fragile yet. 

For the moment, he was content to curl up at Estinien’s side and share in his warmth as the two of them drifted to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please go look at this BEAUTIFUL fanart from last chapter i just about died: http://rdhanhanunh.tumblr.com/post/152707622751/if-you-like-estinienaymeric-go-read-neither


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting close to the end of part 1, finally? ive been stuck at a bad job and its been eating up all my energy, sorry this is so late lmao

He woke before the light of dawn as he usually did. His disorientation upon waking in a bed not his own lasted for only a few moments before he felt Aymeric’s weight and warmth beside him, heard the steady rise and fall of his breath.

During their time in Coerthas he had grown to find it comforting, and now there was no guilt accompanying his observation of Aymeric’s peaceful sleeping face.  Estinien closed his eyes before he was tempted to kiss him awake. 

Aymeric’s touches the night before had been slow and careful, his hands softer than any soldiers’ had a right to be, and Estinien's face heated remembering it. 

He should leave. He did not belong here, in this mansion on the high streets of the city.

For the time being, though, he settled onto the pillows and drifted back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He awoke a second time to a horrible yowling noise and a flash of white fur at the edge of his vision-- and then he was ambushed.

“Back, foul beast!” Estinien scrambled to pull the covers over his head. Aymeric was nowhere to be found, and he was still naked and wholly unprotected from the cat’s attack. 

“Aymeric!” he bellowed, curling into a ball as the creature pounced repeatedly on the lump of blankets. 

“Sorry, Estinien,” came a voice from the direction of the doorway, sounding far more amused than Estinien felt the situation warranted. “She doesn’t seem to like you.”

Aymeric scooped up the cat and deposited her in the room adjacent. It was only when her screeching was safely behind another door that Estinien emerged from his blanket armor. 

“So you’ve met Angel.” 

“Fury, the beast fights like a small dragon,” he muttered, checking his arms for scratches. "She is ill-named."

“You have my mother to thank for that,” Aymeric said wryly. “Breakfast is almost ready.” 

Estinien pulled on the robe offered him and followed Aymeric down the stairs. 

In the light of morning, the manor was even more impressive, filled with dark wood furniture and pillars of stone. Estinien avoided the direct gaze of the well-dressed Elezen whose portraits lined the halls. Curiously, none of them looked much like Aymeric, possessing far fairer features that Estinien more readily associated with the Haillenarte house. 

“How do you like your tea?” Aymeric asked as they entered the kitchen. A delicious smell wafted from the stove, and Estinien felt his mouth water. 

“I'll take a bit of syrup.”

Perching on a dining room chair, one foot on the seat and the other hanging off the side, Estinien watched, wide-eyed, as Aymeric bustled about the kitchen, stirring and chopping and putting things on plates.  He looked fully at ease there, the sleeves of his robe pushed up around his elbows and his hair a tangled mess from the night before (but still perfect, somehow). 

“I made royal eggs.” His expression was almost sheepish as he set the plate in front of Estinien. 

It appeared to be some sort of sandwich covered in a golden sauce, and yolk ran out over the bread when he cut into it. Estinien took a tentative bite and also tasted fish.  He began to wolf the rest of it down, pausing only when he caught Aymeric staring at him.

“You have some sauce…” Aymeric swiped a thumb over the corner of Estinien’s mouth. Estinien nearly choked on a mouthful of egg and had to take a large gulp of tea. 

“Who taught you to make this?” he asked once he had recovered. 

Aymeric took a seat beside him with a plate of his own. “We kept a cook, but Lady de Borel enjoyed trying new recipes as a hobby.” 

Estinien was quiet for a moment. “It’s good.” 

“I’m pleased you like it,” said Aymeric. He smiled. “Having you here is more wonderful than I could have imagined.”

Estinien’s stomach twisted over on itself. “I-- I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not like you, I’ve never done this before.”

“This might be uncharted territory for both of us, but we shall explore it together, and it will be much less frightening.” 

“I don't understand.” 

Aymeric placed a hand on top of his. “I’m quite fond of you, Estinien. In a way I have scarce felt for anyone else.”

That stunned him into silence. When Aymeric looked at him, his eyes were full of warmth.

“I have been for some time. I should have told you earlier.” 

“You’re a fool,” Estinien said quietly, “to desire me so.” 

Aymeric lifted Estinien’s hand and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. “I doubt it.” 

Estinien withdrew, curling it into a fist at his side. “Even when I am made a dragoon, and my missions take me far afield?” 

“Of course. When I am Lord Commander, I want you as my Azure Dragoon.” 

"You would trust me with that?" 

Aymeric looked him in the eyes and replied without hesitation. "Yes. Absolutely."

Unable to put words to the gratitude he wanted to give, Estinien instead leaned over and captured Aymeric's lips in a kiss. Aymeric made a soft, surprised noise, but kissed back, reaching up to grip Estinien's arm.

When at last they broke apart, Aymeric was smiling at him, cheeks flushed.

"If you will be Ishgard’s defender," said Estinien, his throat tight, "then I shall be yours.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so so late! i've had most of this chapter written for a while but i haven't been able to put it together until now.

The air was biting, even for an autumn morning, and Aymeric drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders on his way to work. The streets were mostly empty this early, but as he descended into Foundation he caught sight of a group of laborers repairing damage from a dragon attack several months prior.

In the past, the smashed-in walls and burnt statues would have been repaired within a week. He’d been a boy of eighteen when Ishgard closed its gates and the resources for rebuilding trickled to almost nothing, and now the lower part of the city seemed to be in a constant state of disrepair. He sent a quiet prayer to the Fury that the workers would be able to finish before winter.

There was no one in the Seat of the Lord Commander when he arrived, but he did not think much of it, punctual though Faucheux usually was. Aymeric’s mind was on Estinien as he flipped through reports from the previous day. They planned to join for supper after Estinien finished his patrol.

Since Aymeric’s confession in the Borel manor kitchen a week prior, they were spending even more time in each other’s company, much to his friends’ amusement. When he’d told them the other day that he would be having a night in with Estinien, Albertine and Rosemonde shared knowing glances, while Fiacre cackled and shooed him away.

Estinien was most unlike Fiacre and did not enjoy being petted and cooed over in public. In private, however, Estinien could hardly keep his hands off him. It was as if he’d been starved for touch, and now he wanted nothing more than to overindulge. Sometimes his methods were more akin to a scholar than a lover, studying every ilm of skin with the sort of intensity he reserved for training, until he had Aymeric frustrated and squirming.

Aymeric felt beneath his collar to probe at the mark at his neck where Estinien had bitten him two nights prior. Bitten him, and then kissed the bruise as it bloomed on his skin, tender and warm to the touch. Touching it now made a shudder pass through him, his throat tightening at the memory.

Still, many nights Estinien woke in a sweat beside him with revenge on his lips. Still, in the mornings he vanished to practice his lancework alone. None of it changed the fact that Estinien’s very presence warmed him with an incandescent happiness. Aymeric could do naught more than hold him close when they were together, and that, for the moment, was enough.

He was interrupted by a loud, rapid knocking and Handeloup’s urgent voice from the other side of the door. “Captain Aymeric?”

“Come in.”

Handeloup stumbled into the room with sword drawn, his eyes wild. “A group of heretics attacked the Vault,” he gasped. “All of our forces are to report there immediately.”

 

\--

 

Outside of the Vault was chaos.

Robed heretics clashed with temple knights all around him. Blood ran off the tiles into the Hoplon’s fountain pools, staining the water red. Handeloup dove into the crowd, clutching the hilt of his sword, while Aymeric started to guide the terrified civilians away from the fighting.

As he was helping an elderly priestess to escape, a man climbed up onto the platform where the statue of King Thordan I stood and began to shout. “This war is a falsehood, and the blood of Dravania is on your hands!”

“Aymeric!” He heard Handeloup’s cry almost a moment too late as he was blindsided by a heretic wielding a massive claymore. The blade passed over him with a rush of air as he dodged. He’d barely found his footing when his opponent charged again, robes fluttering, wielding the heavy sword with an ease that would have made Ser Zephirin jealous.

“Death to the lying Archbishop,” the man on the statue screamed. “Death to his church!”

Aymeric reached for the dagger he kept at his side, then cut in close and slashed at the heretic’s neck. They dodged at the last second, and Aymeric froze as the robe fell away, revealing a familiar face.

“Albertine?”  

No. It couldn’t have been. Her dark red hair was too long; her face, too scarred-- but her eyes widened in recognition. It gave Aymeric the opening he needed to lunge and try to knock the weapon from her hands. She was built just as solidly as Albertine, however, and the force of the impact sent him staggering instead, while she stepped back and hefted the claymore. The weapon of a Dark Knight.

Several confused cries came from the Vault doors. Aymeric struggled to his feet and looked over the woman’s shoulder just as the heretic standing on the king’s statue drew a vial from his belt and drained it in one swallow.

The woman covered her mouth, and it only took a moment for Aymeric to realize why.  A red miasma swirled about the statue, and the air grew thick with the smell of blood and death. Before he could so much as draw his bow, a massive aevis stood in place of the man, spreading its dark grey wings wide. The beast let out a hideous roar and reared back on its haunches, preparing to swoop into the crowd.

Then, from high above, there came a noise that seemed to rend the very air with its shrillness. He thought he saw a flash of red light, and the statue shattered, covering the Hoplon in a cloud of dust.

Coughing, he shielded his mouth with his hand and fought his way forward. Some of the people around him were still scrambling to escape, but others had begun to point and cry out. A glowing red figure stood over the body of the aevis. It wrenched the spear free and turned, and Aymeric’s heart stuttered in his chest when he saw the flash of long silver hair. The shout came from somewhere in the crowd, rising above the noises of battle.

“Haldrath! Haldrath has been reborn!”

When Aymeric turned again, the heretic woman was gone.

 

\--

 

Estinien had only been inside the Vault a handful of times. The first had been immediately following his arrival to the Holy See. The forbidding iron grating, the impossibly tall pillars, the wide murals of Halone striking down her enemies-- to a young boy from the country, exhausted and newly orphaned, it was terrifying. A lot of that fear had left him as he grew older, but overall his opinion of the building had not improved much.

“They say the eye glowed when he fought,” came a loud whisper from behind him. He did not look up, keeping his head down and his mouth closed.

“How fitting it would be Alberic Bale’s boy.” A deep voice. One of the Ward, perhaps. Estinien did not recognize it.

“The former Azure Dragoon? But he was a Hyur--”

“Do you recall what happened to that village?”

“Estinien!”

His head jerked up at the sound of Aymeric’s voice echoing off the high ceilings. Aymeric bent over his chair, concern written across his features.

“Thank the Fury you’re alive,” he said, giving Estinien's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re still covered in blood. Come with me, we'll have you cleaned up.”

Estinien shrugged him off with a scowl. “They will not let me leave.”

“Captain.” The man with the deep voice cleared his throat. Aymeric turned, blocking Estinien’s view of the inquisition chamber. Or perhaps blocking their view of him. “You do not have permission to be here.”

“My apologies, Ser Vellguine,” said Aymeric. “This man is under my command, and I wished to thank him for his service to the Holy See today. I was concerned when I could not find him with the chirurgeons.”

“They wanted to see that I was free of the wyrm’s influence.” Resentment curled hot in his stomach. What use were these church officials, who ran and hid while their flock was slaughtered on their doorstep? And they told him he did not know what he felt.

“There has been no Azure Dragoon for a decade. The necessary precautions must be taken,” one of the inquisitors said. Estinien opened his mouth to argue back when Aymeric spoke up.

“Perhaps you might continue your debate while I take my knight back to be properly cared for.” Diplomatic though he usually was, it was difficult to miss the venom in his voice. Estinien’s cheeks flamed at Aymeric’s possessive tone. He instantly felt foolish for thinking it. Aymeric would’ve defended any of his soldiers in the same way.

After the discussion went around in circles for several more minutes, Vellguine dismissed them, and Aymeric put a firm hand at Estinien’s back and steered him from the building.

The sun was setting outside, casting a soft golden glow over the empty high streets. Workers had already removed the debris from the earlier battle. Estinien felt much better breathing in the crisp air, though they made their way to the infirmary in silence. When they reached the Congregation, Estinien stole a sideways glance at Aymeric, whose mouth was drawn in a tight line.

“What is it?” he asked.

Aymeric appeared hesitant to speak. “They said the eye responded to you.”

“Aye,” said Estinien. “The wyrm itself named me Azure. I’ve never felt that kind of power before. That kind of rage. It’s just as Alberic described.”

If Estinien did not know him as well as he did, then he would not have noticed Aymeric flinch at the mention of his father. He frowned.

“Are you not pleased for me? You’ve barely spoken two words since we left.”

Aymeric lifted his head. His smile did not quite reach his eyes. “Yes, of course, Estinien. I could not be prouder.”

Estinien’s fingernails dug into his palms. “This is all I have wanted for ten years. Vengeance for my family. For all of us.”

“I know. Sweet Fury, but I know.” Aymeric put a hand on Estinien’s forehead, pushed his bangs from his eyes, and Estinien felt himself relax under the touch. “I apologize. I was upset at how you were being treated by the inquisitors. Not with you.”

“Oh,” said Estinien. He tilted forward into Aymeric's palm. "Craven wretches, all of them." 

Aymeric smiled helplessly at him. “Pray do not torment the chirurgeons overmuch. I need to speak with Albertine about something, I will meet you back at the manor anon.”

He gave Estinien a quick kiss and left him standing alone on the darkening street.


End file.
